


An Answer Under Stars

by squiddtastic



Series: The Star's Gentle Reminder [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Asphyxiation (Mild), Biting, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Friends to Lovers, Kind of lovers, M/M, Medical Procedures (Stitches), Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Regis just wants to care for Geralt okay, Scratching, Strength Kink, Takes place somewhere in Baptism of Fire I guess but I'm honestly not sure where, Vampire Sex Powers, fang kink, fangs, he's a good egg, that's a tag for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22728598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiddtastic/pseuds/squiddtastic
Summary: When Regis is finally accepted by Geralt, their relationship improves considerably, much to everyone's relief. With the tension between them gone, Geralt now has a chance to think about things. Some of these thoughts are unwelcome.Vesemir would be very disappointed.
Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: The Star's Gentle Reminder [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634347
Comments: 36
Kudos: 226





	An Answer Under Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Y'all can have a little smut, as a treat. This is the longest fic I've written and one of the first smuts I've ever made public so what lovely coincidence that I would finish it on Valentine's Day LOL
> 
> There are references to the first story in this series so it's recommended you read that one first (To Appreciate The Night Sky) but it's not strictly needed. Also some references to the actual Witcher books but again you don't have to have read them! There's just some minor references you might not understand.
> 
> I have no idea what I'm doing with this series. I still need to read more of the books because work has me swamped so I'm either writing or reading, I don't have time for both unfortunately. I do have plans for this series, I'm just not sure how to put them into action yet... ANYWAY enjoy!

_'How high do you value me?'  
'Bloody high.'  
'You tickle my vanity. To be precise?'  
'Fuck off, Regis.'  
'I'm going. But first put a value on me. If you please.'  
'I've usually taken the equivalent of a good saddle horse for an ordinary vampire. But you, after all, are not ordinary.'  
'How much?'  
'I doubt,' the Witcher said, his voice as cold as ice, 'I doubt whether anyone could afford it.'_  


* * *

Blood was pounding in Geralt's ears. He breathed in deeply, steadying himself, sword held above his head at the ready as he calculated his next strike.

The Leshen in front of him was silent as it moved, stalking towards him as the sound of crows drowned out all other noise. Geralt sucked in a breath and quickly rolled to the side as a group of sharp roots loudly sprouted from the ground beneath him. His eyes scanned the area and he rapidly released a Dancing Star bomb towards the Leshen when he spotted it, but it detonated against nothing but grass as the relict disappeared from his sight in a cloud of black smoke.

Geralt heard the howl of wolves. He cursed silently.

_Breathe. Breathe._

He heard the familiar sound of grass crunching behind him and quickly spun around, his fingers forming a sign in the air and igniting the area in front of him. The Leshen flailed its long, wooden claws as it caught fire, the crows around it cawing incessantly. It released a haunting moan as the wolves showed themselves, surrounding the Witcher and snarling, fangs sharp and glistening and threatening as they lunged forward.

Geralt quickly cast another sign, the protective barrier engulfing him and immediately shattering as the wolves made contact. They were knocked back in the explosion and Geralt struck – quick, clean, and true. The wolves howled in pain as they bled, but Geralt had no time to lose. He quickly leaped out of the way when he heard the sound of crows materializing behind him, just in time to see the Leshen strike at the place where he had just been moments before, its long claws digging into the dirt and causing rubble to erupt from the ground.

A dull ache in his knee. He ground his teeth together harshly. His blood was already throbbing through his veins under the effect of his potions but still he reached for another, downing the vial of Tawny Owl in one swift gulp and shuddering as he felt it take effect.

The wolves lunged again, but Geralt was prepared. He swiftly dodged to the side and drew the sign of Aard in the air, knocking the pack to their sides as they let out a stunned whine. He wasted no time in lunging right back at them with a clean pirouette, delivering the killing blows in one final strike.

His head snapped to the side and he just barely caught a glimpse of the murder of crows diving towards him. He attempted to sidestep out of the way but only somewhat managed, the crows shredding into his shoulder and cawing eerily as they went. The Witcher grunted at the impact, but the pain was temporarily muted by the elixirs flowing through his veins. He took a deep breath and spotted the Leshen re-materializing once more.

_Focus. Focus._

Geralt leaped through the air towards the Leshen, rolling seamlessly and striking cleanly at its wooden torso with his sword. The Leshen howled and struck back immediately, but the Witcher was faster. He dodged backwards and once again cast the sign of Igni, watching as the blazing fire spouted from his hands towards the relict in front of him. It groaned once more, stumbling backwards, and Geralt wasted no time.

He leaped forward and struck hard in an upward vertical strike, and the Leshen collapsed to the ground. It released one last haunting moan, flames licking at its wooden body as it fell, roots sprouting from the ground around it as its life slipped away. Geralt leapt back as a precaution, but once he was sure the Leshen had perished he dropped his arms to his sides and let out a breath of relief.

Everything was silent for a while, the only sounds being Geralt's heartbeat thudding in his ears and the gentle rustling of trees in the wind. He began to feel a throbbing pain in his head – the adrenaline wearing off meant he was starting to feel the effects of toxicity. He shook his head in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching. He glanced over his shoulder.

"Is it dead...?" Dandelion asked timidly as he peeked his head out from behind Regis, Milva, and Cahir. Geralt sighed and nodded, sliding his sword back into its sheath.

"It's dead."

"Oh, thank the gods," the troubadour sighed a breath of relief and stood up straight as he emerged from his hiding spot. He looked at the Leshen's corpse and laughed. "By the gods, Geralt, that was incredible! The ballads I'll be able to write..."

Geralt wasn't exactly paying attention to the praise, however, as he was unable to distract himself from the throbbing pain in his blood. He began to dig around in his bag.

"Are you alright?" Regis asked in concern as he got a clearer glimpse of the Witcher's face, which gave the impression of an undead corpse.

"Fine," Geralt grumbled as he finally found what he was looking for. He pulled the White Honey from his bag and uncorked the vial. "Toxicity." He downed the contents and immediately felt a rush of calming relief as the toxins began to exit his body. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Fascinating," the vampire mused. "You must let me examine those elixirs one day." Milva snorted and approached the Leshen corpse, kneeling beside it.

"A Leshy..." She mumbled. "It looks tough."

"It was," Geralt confirmed with a grunt. He touched the wound on his shoulder that the crows had inflicted and winced, the pain beginning to hit him with the effects of the potions gone. He could feel the ache in his knee returning and he shifted his weight in an attempt to alleviate it. Milva glanced at him over her shoulder when she heard the sound. Not out of concern, mind you, more out of curiosity.

"You're wounded," Cahir commented. Geralt shot him a look.

"Mm. I'll be fine."

"Let me," Regis offered and approached him, reaching a hand out to inspect the wound closer. Geralt looked away and let him.

This was already immense progress on Geralt's part. A week ago the Witcher wouldn't have let the vampire anywhere near him, but now he was allowing him to examine his fresh and bleeding wound. He wasn't even watching him closely, his arm didn't even twitch instinctively towards his sword. The party was, in the simplest terms, surprised. Nobody said anything.

Regis hummed. "It's deep, but not at all life-threatening," he confirmed. "I'll apply some healing mixtures and stitch it up. You'll be good as new."

"I don't need that," Geralt protested, turning his head to look at the vampire. "Witcher's can heal on their—"

"Tsk, tsk, Geralt," Regis chided, shaking his head. "Trust me, you will heal much faster. And you won't even scar." Geralt rolled his eyes.

"I don't care about scars," He muttered as he absentmindedly reached to run his fingers over the numerous healed scars on his neck and shoulders. Regis raised an eyebrow, and the Witcher could practically hear the 'I'm-not-going-to-argue-with-you-about-this-so-you-had-better-quiet-down-now' warning with that one, simple look. Geralt listened to that look and said nothing more. He simply sighed and looked away. He knew he'd never win that battle and he knew when to give up.

"Right," Dandelion clapped his hands together. "Well, you can do that, sure. But we need to collect that trophy and then collect that reward. Oh, you'll be paid heavily for this one, Geralt! Just look at this thing!" Dandelion knelt across from Milva on the other side of the corpse and examined it closely, an excited grin plastered on his face. The archer smiled mischievously and quickly moved to jerk one of the Leshen's clawed hands towards Dandelion in a faux attack. The bard screamed and fell backward. Milva began laughing hysterically.

Geralt had no idea how their party of five had survived for this long.

* * *

"Please, sirs, I've a family... Have mercy, please..."

Geralt did his best to conceal his annoyance, he really did. It didn't work. It was always the same old shit.

"I risked my life in that forest for you," Geralt growled, jerking his thumb towards the Leshen head on the ground beside him. "I expect to be paid for it."

"But sir, me daughter's sick with the pox... She's only thirteen, m'lord, has her mother's blonde locks, stands merely up to here, and—"

" _Now_."

The peasant – a shorter man with tattered clothes and long, dark, unkempt hair – sighed and hunched over in defeat. His hand was shaking as he slowly reached for his inner coat pocket, hesitantly pulling out the bag of gold. Geralt squinted at him and held out his hand expectantly. The peasant gulped and dropped the pouch in the offered hand. Geralt briefly felt the weight of it. He paused for a moment as he examined the pouch, eyes narrowing, emotions unreadable. The peasant's expression was transforming into one of panic...

But Geralt put the pouch in his pocket.

"Thanks," he murmured and turned away, walking out the door silently. Dandelion, Cahir, Regis, and Milva looked at each other in confusion before following the Witcher out the door.

"What was that?" Dandelion spoke up immediately. "Did he pay you?"

"You saw that he paid me."

Dandelion sighed in frustration. "Did he pay you in _full?_ "

Geralt hesitated. Dandelion groaned loudly, running a hand down his face.

" _Geralt_ ," he moaned. "Why would you do that?! I thought you witcher's never did anything for free! You never give discounts! Do you want us all to starve? To live off of whatever we can find in the woods for this entire journey?" Geralt looked at the ground and ground his teeth together, but began walking towards the stable where their horses were being kept.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Milva mumbled under her breath as she followed a few paces behind. Cahir looked back at the house they had just exited, an old and worn building that seemed like it was about to collapse at any second. He turned his attention back to the Witcher.

"There must be a reason," the Nilfgaardian spoke slowly. "Right?"

"Oh, he'd bloody damn well hope there's a reason," the troubadour complained, kicking at a pebble on the path and watching as it bounced away pathetically. "A good one, at that."

Geralt seemed to tense up. It was clear that he wasn't in the mood for a conversation, yet he would not be left at peace until he gave an answer. He knew this. His walking speed slowed slightly, seeming to contemplate his words. It was silent for a few seconds before he replied.

"His daughter's sick."

Dandelion was about to respond with a snide retort, finger pointed accusingly at the witcher in front of him, but he hesitated when he heard his reasoning. He had heard the man tell them, of course, but Dandelion hadn't given it a second thought. It was, after all, rare to find someone who had an entirely healthy family. But a thirteen-year-old daughter... He studied Geralt, whose head was low, shoulders were hunched, fists were clenched. He then glanced at Regis, who glanced back at him sadly. The vampire adjusted the strap around his shoulder. Dandelion bit his lip as he finally understood.

"...Oh. Alright."

The conversation ended at that.

Everyone decided they could live off of scraps of bread for a while longer.

* * *

"You need to hold still."

"You need to stop poking at me."

"Geralt, you're a witcher, my friend. You've dealt with much worse. I doubt I need to remind you of that fact."

"Fuck off."

Geralt may have accepted the vampire into their ranks, but his protective and smug nature was still irritating to him.

Regis was currently dressing the Witcher's shoulder wound. He had finished with the application of his freshly-brewed healing mixture and had now moved on to the stitches. Geralt wasn't fond of it. He was rarely ever stitched up – he never needed it and nobody ever offered. And despite Geralt letting Regis know countless times that he had dealt with far worse, and that witcher's were used to scars and were perfectly capable of healing on their own, the surgeon in him outright refused to let it go untreated. The Witcher wasn't exactly comfortable allowing another human to have a sharp object repeatedly dig into his skin.

Well, another vampire. That was arguably worse, but Geralt had gotten over that part by now.

Their relationship had been surprisingly... fine, since their talk in the forest. Geralt wasn't sure why he felt so open to accepting the vampire after one short discussion. Something about the way Regis spoke – the tone of his voice, his choice of words, the expression on his face – ultimately lead to Geralt being ready to trust him. The Witcher wasn't as good as Dandelion was at reading people, but when he had this strong an instinct to trust someone, he usually deigned to listen to it. He wasn't regretting it so far.

In fact, Geralt was almost enjoying their newfound friendship. He found himself wondering quite a lot about higher vampires, and Regis would always know when there was a question on his mind and offer his vampiric wisdom. When Geralt asked, Regis would answer without hesitation. The Witcher would end up being a vampire expert, at this rate. It was a surprising bonding experience.

"Why did you become a surgeon?" Geralt suddenly asked. Regis hummed in thought.

"One who has lived for centuries often attempts to find new things to entertain him," he replied, leaning in closer to his stitching to focus. "Especially when one has spent many of those years wreaking havoc. I find it is far more rewarding to help rather than to harm. I also happen to find humans fascinating, and working as a barber-surgeon has given me ample opportunity to learn from them. Why do you ask?"

Geralt almost shrugged, but realised that wouldn't be such a good idea in his current position. He tilted his head slightly instead. "I don't know. I guess I just never expected a vampire to want to help humans." Regis laughed.

"You give your species too little credit," he replied. "True, there are a couple of... bad apples among you, so to speak, but is that not the same with all species? I have met remarkably pleasant humans in my time. You being one of them."

Geralt sneaked a glance towards the vampire at that but Regis wasn't paying attention, focusing intently on his work. He seemed very determined to treat him to the best of his ability, evident by how his eyes were so effectively trained on the wound. At times his tongue would stick out in concentration, and the Witcher found it to be quite endearing. Geralt bit his cheek silently as he slowly looked away again.

"...And the blood? It doesn't bother you?"

Regis paused his work for a moment at the question, but continued soon after. "No. Perhaps it did at first, but I hardly remember that now. I, instead, take advantage of my heightened senses to detect harmful properties in the blood; poison, for example."

Geralt nodded slowly. "So that's why you said Dandelion's blood smelled nice." The vampire laughed once again.

"Perhaps not the best way I could have phrased it, but yes. You realise I explained this to you?"

"I kind of stopped paying attention after hearing you say that his blood smelled good," the Witcher grunted. Regis smiled warmly at him as he pulled away from his shoulder.

"How fortunate that things between us have improved since then," he mused. Geralt was silent for a few seconds before nodding once.

"Agreed."

The vampire began to disinfect the wound with some substances that Geralt didn't exactly pay attention to; herbs, he assumed, and probably some type of alcohol, if the sting was anything to go off of. His shoulder was then bandaged firmly and securely with Regis's sure hand. The vampire leaned back when he was finished, dusting his hands together in satisfaction.

"There, all done," Regis smiled in content. "See? That wasn't so bad."

Geralt grunted and rolled his shoulder experimentally. It was a little sore, but nothing he couldn't handle.

"Thanks."

The vampire nodded and his smile widened, but his lips were still pursed together, as usual. As Regis began to pack up his things, Geralt glanced at his pursed lips and found himself wondering what his teeth truly looked like up close. He's seen vampire teeth. In fact, he's _felt_ vampire teeth on several occasions, and none such occasions were pleasant. Bruxae had mouths full of sharp fangs, though not necessarily when they were disguised. He wondered if it was the same for higher vampires like Regis. Did they always have sharp teeth? Just a couple of sharp fangs? Could he transform them at will? He wondered if Regis would show them to him, if he just asked...

He shook his head and looked away, surprised at himself. Nope, that was not a thought he was going to continue thinking about. He quickly dismissed it.

"Do you have another question?"

Regis's voice made Geralt jump. He looked back at the vampire, who was currently wiping his hands with a rag and looking inquisitively at Geralt. He was entirely too observant for his own good. The Witcher stared in silence for a few seconds, as if debating how to respond. After a while, though, he simply shook his head. 

"No." He coughed into his sleeve. "Thanks again. Bye."

He turned and left. Regis watched him go, brows furrowing in confusion. He briefly contemplated following the Witcher, but ultimately decided against it.

He continued to pack his things.

* * *

"...and he raised his sword high above his head, towards the sky, yelling fiercely and commanding respect! The bruxa cowered in fear, arms desperately protecting her monstrous face as she was forced to stand down. Geralt's threatening gaze did not yield, but he sheathed his sword! Yes, that's right! Yet the bruxa did not attack! No, the vampire, stunned and frozen in fear, was then held by her lover in a gentle embrace. Her sharp features softened as they gazed into each other's eyes, and her lover's monstrous figure miraculously began to shift into that of a young human man! As the curse lifted from the both of them, cured by their passionate love, they thanked the Witcher profusely before setting off on a—" 

"That is not at all how that happened," Geralt grunted in annoyance as he bit into a piece of dry bread. He was used to Dandelion's embellished stories, but he was not immune to their effects.

A few weeks had passed since he had completed the Leshen contract, and the supplies they had purchased with the reward were beginning to dwindle, despite their efforts to make it last. The Witcher was seated on the ground in front of a flickering campfire, its light dancing in the dark gloom of the forest. Cahir, Regis, and Milva were also seated around the fire, but Dandelion was standing with a leg heroically planted on a tree stump. The bard huffed, clearly upset with being interrupted.

"How many times must I tell you?" He retorted, hands on his hips. "Nobody is interested in the facts. People listen to stories to feel emotion! As I've said, stories are meant to move their audience! Geralt, you know nothing of the arts, despite everything I've taught you. Frankly, I'm disappointed." Geralt simply rolled his eyes and rubbed at his temple. After a moment of silence, the vampire spoke up.

"So, what really happened?" He asked inquisitively as he examined the contents of his mug, swirling them around with a skeptical gaze.

Geralt took a moment to think about his reply. He wasn't sure if Regis would be... sensitive, to the death of one of his kind. Was that something that bothered vampires? Did they typically mind? Would he get defensive? Regis was no ordinary vampire, of course, which also complicated things. Said vampire looked up at him when the answer did not come immediately. Geralt looked down at his plate of food.

"I killed her. I had no choice. She attacked me, and you can't cure vampirism. The curse was lifted from the man, though." Regis hummed.

"How fascinating," the vampire mused, "And how was the curse lifted, if I may ask? My curiosity has gotten the better of me." Geralt looked up from the ground to glance at him.

"Uh... I don't really know, honestly," he shrugged. "True love, I guess?" 

"My, now doesn't that simply sound like a tale straight from one of Dandelion's ballads?" The vampire seemed quite amused and intrigued by the whole situation. He mentioned nothing about the bruxa, though, and Geralt deigned to assume that higher vampires didn't care much about that. Regis seemed to notice his hesitation, however.

"Is something bothering you?" 

Well, he's asked Regis many vampire questions before. This was no different.

"You're not upset by that?" He asked slowly. "Not the true love thing, but..." Regis smiled, his eyes crinkling.

"Why would I be?"

Geralt blinked. "I... don't know." Regis laughed softly and lifted his mug to his lips, taking a sip of the warm tea before replying.

"She attacked you, Geralt. We vampires aren't held to a sacred protective oath, if that's what you had assumed." Truthfully, Geralt didn't know what he assumed. He didn't know much about any of that. Though, come to think of it, he had never been all that upset by the death of a complete human stranger before either. Vampires were just so incredibly different. Or, that's what he thought, at least. His gaze wandered to the burning fire in front of him.

"Oh."

The group ate in relative silence, listening to the crackling fire and taking small bites of their small amounts of food. They tried to conserve the rations they had as much as possible as Dandelion continued to occasionally tell exaggerated stories about Geralt's adventures. The Witcher tried his best to stay out of it.

However, Geralt's attention was immediately redirected when he felt his medallion hum against his chest.

"Dandelion," he whispered harshly. The bard stopped talking and squinted at Geralt.

"Again, Geralt? I swear, you have no—"

"Quiet," he hissed. "My medallion."

That shut him up immediately.

Geralt slowly stood up, movements careful and calculated, and reached for the silver sword that was resting on the ground beside him. He strapped the scabbard to his back and held the sword itself tightly in his hand.

"Stay here." His voice was low and gravelly. The vampire carefully set his now empty mug on the forest floor in front of him, slowly moving to stand.

"Perhaps I should—"

" _No_ ," Geralt was quick to respond, but his eyes were scanning the dimly lit forest around him. "Stay here. All of you." He worked best alone and felt more at ease knowing Regis would be there with the group if worse came to worst. He reached into his pack and retrieved a Cat potion, downing it in one go before slowly stalking into the darkness.

His sword was held above his head in a defensive stance as he scanned the area carefully. He had no information. This could be a necrophage, easily dispatched, or it could be a Leshen, which Geralt was really not hoping for. He slowed his breathing and calmed his heartbeat, focusing intently on the sounds around him. A rustle of leaves – just the wind. A small movement – just a bird. His medallion continued to vibrate. It was here somewhere. 

As the Witcher prowled the night, his eyes glowing under the effects of the potion, he suddenly heard the soft sound of footsteps. They were not approaching him – instead, judging by the pattern of the noise, they seemed to be pacing back and forth. Geralt's head snapped towards the noise. He approached slowly.

What he spotted was not what he expected. It appeared to be a young woman. Her hair was shoulder-length and looked smooth as silk. She was wearing a long and thin dress, her arms wrapped around her body as she shivered in the cold of the night. Her shoulders were hunched and her breathing was labored. Geralt squinted and approached carefully, sword still held at the ready. He wasn't a fool.

"Hey," he called out. The woman stopped in her tracks, head snapping to face the Witcher. Her eyes looked fearful, her teeth chattering, her breath coming out in visible puffs of fog.

"Help me," she begged, falling to her knees. "Please, sir, help me!"

"Who are you?"

"My name is Silva. Please help me, m'lord!"

"What are you doing here?"

"There is a monster, sir! My traveling cart was attacked! Nobody survived, I'm all alone! Please, good sir!" The woman pleaded, her voice cracking, her hands clasped together desperately as she lowered her head to the ground, forehead pressing against the earth. Geralt narrowed his eyes and scanned the area around them, searching for shapes and movements.

"...What did the monster look like?"

"Oh, I didn't get a good look, m'lord," her voice wavered. "It stood on two legs, I think... It had large claws. Yes, yes, large claws. Please, m'lord, take me with you... I've nothing to offer now, but I can pay once I've gotten back on my feet..." Geralt's medallion continued to vibrate incessantly. His gaze wandered back towards the woman kneeling pitifully on the ground. His sword lowered slightly, but only slightly.

"Mm... I can take you to the nearest village. But that's all I can do."

"Oh, may the god's reign blessings upon you!" She wailed. Geralt grunted.

"I need to take care of the monster first," his voice was low, dark, controlled. "My companions are nearby."

"Of course, sir. Absolutely, m'lord."

Geralt nodded at the woman, eyes carefully trained on her, and was about to reach for a blade oil when he heard a rustling sound behind him. He quickly spun around without hesitation, sword in a tight grip, held defensively above his head. He saw nothing. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The area around him was quiet.

Too quiet.

He realised his carelessness immediately.

Without a second thought, he reached for the Black Blood that was ever ready on his belt. He grabbed it as he spun around to face the woman who was kneeling on the ground.

But she was no longer there.

Everything happened in an instant.

Before Geralt could lift the potion to his mouth, he heard a mind-numbing screech. He instinctively reached to cover his ears with his hands, causing the vial to slip from his grip in his scramble. He gasped in a panic as he attempted to catch it, but the ear-piercing sound that was pounding into his mind was too much to allow him to focus. He was momentarily stunned as he doubled over and tightly shut his eyes, grinding his teeth together as the sound plagued his senses.

The bruxa re-materialized in front of him as she shrieked and Geralt silently cursed himself. He had his suspicions, of course he did. He had plenty of experience. He knew there was a risk, and yet...

Fuck.

He ducked instinctively as the bruxa lunged at him, her claws only narrowly missing their target. He spun out of her reach and drew the sign of Quen in the air, having no time to catch his breath as she disappeared from his sight, right in front of his eyes.

The Witcher desperately reached for a Moon Dust bomb. When his hands found purchase he sidestepped in a slow circle, constantly on the move as he listened for the bruxa's footsteps. The eerie sound of a woman's laughter filled his ears, the noise disembodied and seeming to come from all around him. He bared his teeth and reached for another potion.

Before he could grab it, however, the vampire dropped in front of him and lunged, claws extended, fangs glistening.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

Geralt quickly rolled to the side. He felt a jolt of pain in his knee and cursed silently and violently as it hindered his ability to dodge the attack. One of the razor-sharp claws grazed his hip, but he was left relatively unscathed as the protective barrier around him shattered at the impact. He tried to slow his breathing, he tried to focus, but she was so fast and her reaction time was instantaneous and her shriek was so _piercing_ —

His head snapped towards her and he launched the bomb in her direction, but she was already gone. The Witcher cursed once more as he watched the silver splinters explode uselessly, lifting his sword up in preparation as he quickly reached for another bomb. He couldn't believe how the vampire had caught him off guard so effectively. He should have been prepared. He couldn't help but hear Vesemir in his head, scolding him for being so careless.

Another screech. Geralt heard it coming this time and quickly attempted to dodge out of the way. He managed, somewhat, despite the pain, and wasted no time in lunging towards her. His sword sliced cleanly against her side and she let out a pained wail, jumping backwards and defensively extending her claws in front of her face. Geralt leapt towards her with a yell, swinging his sword with all his strength, but it was swiftly parried by her claws. Taking advantage of his momentary stun, she disappeared from sight, leaving Geralt to stagger forward as she fled.

His heart pounded. His medallion vibrated intensely. He could feel his Cat potion beginning to wear off. He was being too careless in the frenzy that was taking place, he wasn't thinking strategically. She would beat him to the ground if he didn't get his act together, and fast. He ground his teeth together in an attempt to _focus_.

He was in the middle of casting Yrden when he heard the footsteps approaching inhumanly fast from behind him. He quickly turned, eyes wide as he watched her lunge at him, claws splayed out in front of her, teeth bared in a snarl. He was too late, his arms desperately attempting to raise his sword fast enough to parry the blow but he _couldn't_ and she was right there—

Everything happened instantly, in a puff of black smoke.

Suddenly there was someone in front of him – Geralt couldn't comprehend what was happening, he couldn't focus and he tried so _hard_ to focus but suddenly he lost his balance and was falling backwards, watching helplessly as the figure in front of him took the blow that was sure to have struck Geralt down. The Witcher knew the man would be ripped to shreds immediately, and that the bruxa would hardly even notice the fact that someone had gotten in her way.

But he didn't.

Instead, ten large, razor-sharp claws emerged from the man's hands and he struck with a lightning-fast speed towards the vampire in front of him. His claws sliced through the bruxa's arms like butter and the vampire wailed in pain and fear as she fell back. Through a series of quick and calculated deductions and the process of elimination, Geralt could at least comprehend what was happening and who had saved his life.

Regis.

"Now, Geralt!"

Regis's stern, booming voice snapped the Witcher out of his daze. He wasted no time.

He shook off his shock and stood in an instant as Regis disappeared in a puff of smoke, revealing the armless bruxa, defenseless in front of him. She snarled, her feet scraping against the forest floor, kicking up clouds of dirt as she attempted to escape. But Geralt was swift and incredibly furious. With a shout, he swung his sword towards her and it sliced cleanly through her neck, blood coating the forest floor around them. She yelled soundlessly, writhing in pain for a few agonizing moments before she fell back and limp against the ground.

Everything became eerily silent.

Geralt almost collapsed in relief, his knee throbbing as he stood. He heard the sound of a soft pair of footsteps approaching him, and he glanced to the side to see Regis rushing towards him. The vampire was completely normal now, his sharpened, elongated claws having shrunk to their normal size. Any ordinary person would have seen absolutely nothing abnormal about him – that is, of course, if they hadn't been witness to the events that had just unfolded. The only startling things about him at the moment were the deep gashes in his shoulders that were already beginning to miraculously close up. Geralt was stunned.

"Geralt!" Regis's expression carried with it a great deal of concern. "Are you alright?"

Geralt grunted and nodded in response, slowly moving to sheathe his sword. "Yeah." He was still attempting to catch his breath. Regis's hands were on him in an instant, examining every part of him that the vampire could see, his eyes flashing with the worry of a mother hen. Geralt cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Regis. Really."

"You should have let me come with you," Regis scolded him, his examination not ceasing despite Geralt's reassurances. "Come here. Well away from the corpse, Geralt. Yes, right here, on the ground. Against this tree. You're exhausted. Oh, Geralt. What happened?"

Geralt swallowed thickly as he leaned against the thick tree behind him. "She looked like a young woman," he admitted sheepishly. Regis narrowed his eyes at him, momentarily stopping his inspection.

"And you fell for it."

" _No_ ," the Witcher protested. Regis raised a skeptical eyebrow. Geralt hesitated. "Not really. I mean, I was suspicious, but I heard a sound behind me, and—"

"And you looked away," the vampire finished. He sighed. "Oh, my dear Geralt. You are entirely too gullible."

Something unknown in Geralt made his heart skip a beat at that. His fingers twitched and he looked at the ground beside him, shifting in place. Regis sighed and leaned back.

"You don't appear to have any critical injuries. That's a good sign. She must have been quite an intelligent member of her species to be able to act so convincingly... And you, my dear witcher, are an incredibly lucky man. I only wish you wouldn't test that luck."

Geralt's heart sped up again. He silently cursed himself. To add to the humiliation of it all, he once again found himself wondering about the vampire's teeth after that entire display. Geralt hadn't been able to see Regis's front at that critical moment, and thus hadn't had the opportunity to get a good look at him. It wasn't the time to think about it, it was nowhere _near_ the time, and yet...

Geralt's jaw tightened.

"We should let the others know you're alright," the vampire stood up, dusting off his clothes and shaking Geralt out of his thoughts. Regis's wounds that were, moments before, intense, deep, and horrifying were now nowhere to be seen. It was incredible. Inhuman. He began to turn and walk away, but the sound of Geralt's voice stopped him.

"Wait."

The vampire looked over his shoulder. Geralt suddenly felt hot with embarrassment. He wasn't sure what he was asking, or why, but he forced himself to continue, lest he make himself look like even more of a fool.

"Can we... stay here for a bit?" 

"Here?" Regis blinked in confusion. "The group is just over there, I can tell them to move here, if you'd like..." Geralt shook his head.

"No, I mean... can you stay? Just you? With me? For a while?"

It was silent for a few moments. Geralt clenched his fist. He felt so, incredibly stupid, but he couldn't have stopped himself from asking. What was happening? Why was he doing this? He had no idea, but the silence was deafening.

"...Of course," the vampire finally replied. Geralt let out a breath of relief. "I'll be back in a moment. I must let the group know you're alright."

"Okay." Geralt attempted to keep his voice steady. He assumed he succeeded, but truthfully he couldn't be sure if the vampire noticed or not, as perceptive as he was. Regis stared for a moment longer, grasping at the strap of his satchel before turning and heading towards their camp.

Geralt felt confused. At himself. Like he couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened, the mortal danger he had been in, and the fact the Regis had just saved his life. And it seemed he had done so with quite little effort.

Geralt shuddered and stood up. He began to pace back and forth, his brain working at a pace he could hardly keep up with. Why had he just asked Regis to stay with him? Alone? What was Regis thinking about him? What did Regis think it was about? What _was_ it about? Geralt ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He would need time to think about what the hell this was. A profound amount of time.

His mind wouldn't stop drifting to thoughts of Regis's unique vampiric attributes. The deadly ones, to be specific. His fangs. They had to be sharp. Razor-sharp. But how many did he have? And his claws. Of course, they weren't normally that long, but they were always there, albeit far shorter. Were they simply like nails? Or did they have an inhuman feel to them as well? What could the vampire do with just his claws, when they were simply at their shorter length? How dangerous was he in his human form? What was he _capable_ of?

Geralt pressed his palms against his forehead. What the hell was going on?

The Witcher heard footsteps approaching and whirled around to see Regis returning. The vampire smiled at him and Geralt nodded in response. He, truthfully, had no idea what to say. He hadn't even known why he asked him to stay here. He was suddenly regretting it.

"They're all relieved to know you're safe," Regis spoke clearly and to the point, as if sensing the awkward energy in the air. Geralt was grateful for the broken silence. "Well, Milva wasn't great at conveying the delight, but I've no doubt she felt it." Geralt snorted and crossed his arms.

"She'd probably hit you if she heard that." Regis let out a laugh.

"I've no doubt about that."

It was silent for another moment. Luckily, however, it felt less awkward this time. More peaceful. Serene. What was once the eerie sound of bushes rustling in the breeze with the promise of more danger was now calming to listen to. A witcher and a vampire, alone in the dead of night, sharing a comfortable silence. And Geralt felt safe. The corners of his lips twitched at the irony of it.

"Do you remember," the vampire spoke, absentmindedly gazing at the stars above, "when we talked under a sky that was just like this?"

Geralt turned his eyes to the sky at the mention of it. The stars were bright against the pitch-black backdrop and the moon was nearly full, emitting a blue glow. He watched as the stars danced. His eyes flickered to the vampire, who seemed to be entranced by the view. His right hand was softly gripping the strap of his satchel, his left resting on the bag itself. His head was tilted slightly, a calm expression on his face, appearing to be deep in thought. Geralt breathed in softly, glancing at the moon once more.

"I remember."

Regis looked back at Geralt. His eyes seemed so impossibly dark in the dim light, but Geralt had begun to get a handle on reading them. At least, better than he had before. The Witcher's eyes traveled absentmindedly over the vampire's features: his dark, chin-length hair was adorned with streaks of grey, pushed back and away from his face. His hairline was receding slightly and the sides of his face were decorated with endearing sideburns. His features carried what Geralt had always recognized as a wealth of knowledge and experience, an almost intimidating amount of it. He had faint wrinkles that graced his forehead, the corners of his mouth, and spaces at the corners of his eyes. At first glance, he definitely would not have looked as old as he really was – middle-aged, perhaps. No older. But Geralt could see it now. He would not have guessed, but he could see. At one point that would have put him on edge.

Now it excited him.

Regis noticed Geralt's gaze wandering and smiled. That damned smile. Geralt used to hate it, but now he saw that it only highlighted the features of the vampire that were most endearing to him. The crinkles by his eyes deepened, his black eyes seemed to brighten, lips pursed as though he were holding back. His smiles used to look forced to Geralt, and maybe they had been. But this one felt warm and so, overwhelmingly genuine. Geralt felt safe and calm in the presence of this smile. It was addicting. 

He took a step towards the vampire. "Regis," he began, not entirely sure where he was going with this. His legs were carrying him against his will, his mouth speaking for him. "I want you to smile."

Regis blinked, obviously unprepared for that statement. "You... what?"

"I want to see you smile," Geralt repeated, his eyes locked with Regis's. "Your real smile. I don't want you to hold back."

Regis seemed to be taken aback, and the Witcher wasn't entirely certain why. Sure, it might have been an odd request, but the vampire seemed... unusually surprised. More surprised than Geralt was expecting. Was it because he was a witcher? Was Regis uncomfortable? Had he crossed a boundary? Was a vampire showing teeth some sort of forbidden fruit? A closely held secret? A sign of deep intimacy?

Geralt shuddered involuntarily. He suddenly wanted to see them that much more.

"Uh, sorry," Geralt suddenly apologized. He rubbed at the back of his neck and silently cursed himself. Why had this been on his mind for so long? And why did he think now was the appropriate time to ask? The last thing he wanted to do was make the vampire uncomfortable. "If you... can't, or something, it's fine. Sorry."

But Regis just smiled.

A real smile.

A _wide_ smile.

Geralt suddenly felt a burning sensation throughout his body and he couldn't help but stare, seemingly entranced. His fangs looked incredibly, painfully sharp, and there weren't only two of them, as some may have expected. His mouth was filled with them. The Witcher couldn't see a single blunt tooth in the vampire's wide grin. Geralt knew he should feel afraid, or at least an urge to reach for his sword. He knew he should feel defensive, he should feel horrified.

But Geralt felt none of that. In fact, he felt the exact _opposite_ of that.

What he wanted to do was grab Regis, push against him, and allow the vampire to do whatever he pleased with him. Including using his undoubtedly razor-sharp fangs. Geralt was a witcher and Regis was a monster. Not just a monster, a _higher vampire_. This was insane. This went against everything he had ever been taught. Vesemir would be screaming at him.

Through all of the protests his mind was shouting at him, he was starting to think the forbidden, foreign nature of it all was something that drew Geralt closer instead of further away. This was becoming a habit.

Geralt shuddered once again, finally coming to his senses. He took a deep breath. "Oh."

Regis immediately closed his mouth, a frown forming on his face. "Oh, dear. Was that too much? I'm sorry, I should have warned you, or—"

"Regis," Geralt held up a hand, closed his eyes and sighed. "Shut up. It was fine. It was more than fine."

When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted with a new expression on the vampire's face. It was an expression Geralt had never seen before. 

He looked almost... embarrassed. But that wasn't it, exactly. He looked stuck.

Regis's eyes were cast at the ground beneath him, his face out of sight from the Witcher, the grip on the strap of his satchel tightening. His feet shuffled slightly as if he suddenly felt like he wasn't where he was supposed to be, like he needed to move. He swallowed.

"Oh. I see."

The air around them was tense. Almost overwhelmingly so. None of them said a word. Geralt's heart was pounding in his ears. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to say, but he was at a loss. His body felt paralyzed. For a split second he wondered if Regis had done something to his mind somehow, but he soon realised that he was being exceedingly moronic, and he simply wasn't used to being so... speechless. He tried to stay calm, he really did, but he couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Regis," Geralt's voice was low, and it surprised even him. When the vampire looked up, Geralt's breath was nearly knocked out of his lungs.

Regis's eyes were always quite dark. Mere moments ago he had been thinking about how impossibly dark they seemed. He now saw that his eyes before were actually quite light in comparison. Now, the entirety of the vampire's eyes were filled with an inky black, dark sclera's tinted a deep red at the corners. They were menacing, intimidating, fierce, and absolutely inhuman. Geralt had never seen his eyes like that. He had a feeling that Regis could hear him swallow.

"Geralt." The Witcher's breath hitched. Regis's voice was quiet but firm, authoritative. He felt his knees weakening. "Are you sure you want this?"

" _Yes_." He answered embarrassingly fast. Regis responded even faster.

Before Geralt could blink, the vampire had him pinned against a nearby tree. Geralt bit back a groan. The ease of which Regis had moved him was incredible, as if Geralt had weighed absolutely nothing. Geralt knew that vampires were strong, he would be a fool to think otherwise, but seeing it in action was an entirely different story. Especially like _this_.

Geralt's heart was beating entirely too fast for his own good. The effect Regis had on him with such a small movement was almost embarrassing.

Regis's mouth was at his neck in an instant, softly running his lips over the soft skin there. Geralt's skin was on fire and he craned his neck to the side to grant the vampire easier access. He felt Regis's mouth open, leaving a trail of open mouth kisses against his jaw, before—

 _Oh_.

Geralt could not suppress a moan as he felt sharp fangs lightly scraping against his neck. The fangs raked against his jaw, then against his jugular, and Geralt felt so, incredibly helpless, completely at the mercy of the vampire pinned against him. And then Regis bit down; not hard enough to mark him, not hard enough to break skin, but just hard enough to make him _feel_ it. Geralt gasped, hips bucking involuntarily as his body eagerly responded.

To his immense disappointment, the vampire suddenly pulled away.

"Ah," Regis began softly, his voice entirely too composed. Geralt's heart skipped a beat. "This... Perhaps this is too much, too soon."

" _Regis_ ," Geralt's hands flew up to grip Regis's shoulders, clutching them hard. A painful grip to most, Geralt assumed, but he was grasping at someone who had recently recovered from a bruxa's gashes in seconds. He had a feeling he would be able to handle it. "Please, for the love of all the gods, stop talking."

The Witcher's hands moved from Regis's shoulders to his jaw. Their eyes bored into each other, the yellow of Geralt's eyes practically glowing in anticipation. Regis's hands slid up Geralt's sides, stopping when they reached his shoulders. Geralt couldn't help but remember the claws that were ever-present on the vampire; it was hard to forget when he felt them gently digging into his biceps, felt their points through his clothes. Geralt closed his eyes tightly in an effort to control himself. But before he could open them, Regis had leaned forward and their lips connected.

It was soft. Much softer than Geralt had anticipated, but he wasn't complaining. He reciprocated instantly, their lips moving against each other like they had been meant for this. He felt one of Regis's hands trail up the rest of the way, across his neck, claws still gently grazing against him, before the hand settled against his cheek. The other hand was now in Geralt's hair, fingers combing through the many knots that had formed there, detangling them with incredible grace. Geralt made a pleased sound at the sensation as he leaned closer into the kiss.

The kiss slowly grew more and more heated, and Geralt absolutely reveled in it. One of Geralt's hand wrapped around Regis's head, the other around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Regis complied. And Geralt knew that Regis was only moving because the vampire himself wanted to. The Witcher could not force him to do anything. If he did not wish for Geralt to pull him closer, then he would not have moved closer. Everything he was agreeing to was a gift for Geralt to enjoy, a favour, a privilege. And the fact that Regis could effortlessly deny the Witcher anything by simply pushing him back had Geralt burning even more than he had been before.

Geralt licked into Regis's mouth, tongue carefully and experimentally trailing over his sharp teeth, and Geralt groaned at the feel of it. It only reminded him that Regis may not have normally been monstrous, but he was still absolutely a monster. Geralt should have hated it. But he _loved_ it. To the Witcher's delight – and surprise – the vampire responded as well, keening softly against his lips. Geralt wanted more. He wanted so, so much more. And when he felt Regis shove his thigh between Geralt's legs, Geralt's hips bucked as he broke the kiss involuntarily to lean his head against the tree behind him.

" _Fuck_ ," He gasped. Regis smiled at him, teeth flashing and glistening in the moonlight. Geralt suddenly felt like he was wearing far too many clothes. They both were. Regis and his dammed cloak. Geralt and his dammed armor. He cursed silently. Why couldn't they just travel around in nothing but a loose shirt and pants?

"Mm," the vampire hummed thoughtfully, kissing gently at Geralt's newly exposed neck. "This has been... very educational."

"Educational," Geralt repeated as he breathed out a laugh. The laugh was cut short when he bit his lip roughly and grunted as he once again felt the vampire teasingly bite at his sensitive skin. "I'm glad you – _nng_ – learned something."

"Oh, I have," Regis mused, his voice vibrating against Geralt's throat. His thigh shifted slightly between Geralt's legs and the Witcher let out another moan.

"Take off your damn clothes," Geralt managed to gasp out, tugging at the vampires cloak desperately. Regis let out a breathy laugh.

"Now, now," he chided, running a clawed finger from Geralt's hair down the Witcher's cheek, leaving a soft, white mark in its wake. "We're in the middle of a forest, Geralt, and our traveling companions happen to be resting just over there. That would be inadvisable." Geralt groaned in frustration.

"Are you _joking?_ " He tried to growl, but it turned into a choked sound as Regis's claws scraped against Geralt's thigh. The threat of Regis leaving him like this suddenly made him painfully aware of his arousal. "You can't... you can't possibly tell me you plan on leaving it like _this_." Regis pulled away from his neck to look directly at Geralt. Geralt shuddered as their eyes met. The vampire's inhuman gaze never failed to stop him in his tracks. Regis licked his lips as he hungrily eyed the Witcher up and down, as if inspecting the work he had accomplished. Geralt swallowed.

"Oh, but that would be incredibly fun," he remarked. Geralt's jaw tightened. "If I left you here, just like this..." He leaned in once more, lips brushing against Geralt's ear. "In the middle of this forest, all alone, bothered and unsatisfied, begging for me and only me."

"Gods, Regis," Geralt practically whined. He couldn't believe how composed the vampire was in their current situation. Or perhaps he couldn't believe how excited he, himself, was in their current situation. Geralt knew he was feeling something, however, evident by the bulge pressing up against his leg. He shifted to rub against it, causing Regis to falter slightly. Geralt saw his jaw clench and felt his claws digging slightly harder into Geralt's arm, causing a shiver to run up the Witcher's spine. Regis let out a breath and nipped at Geralt's earlobe before pulling his head back once more. For a moment, Geralt was very afraid that he would leave.

But he didn't.

"You'd like me to strip you down, wouldn't you?" The vampire's voice was low, vibrating throughout Geralt's entire body. "You'd like me to rip apart your armor, pin you against this tree and fuck you. You wouldn't care about the fact that someone could easily walk by and catch us; in fact, I'm willing to believe you'd enjoy the risk."

"Regis," Geralt was breathless as his hands tightened in Regis's hair. That was short-lived, however, as his hands were suddenly pinned above his head in Regis's inhumanly powerful grip. Geralt groaned at the effortless show of strength, knees nearly buckling. He resisted against the grip experimentally, but Regis did not move an inch. Geralt's entire body was throbbing.

"Tell me, witcher," Regis's voice was barely above a whisper. Geralt was practically panting. "Have you ever fucked a vampire?"

Geralt swallowed thickly. Something about hearing the normally elegant and proper vampire talk like this made Geralt impossibly turned on. He shook his head as he remembered he was asked a question. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "No."

Regis let out a low hum, seemingly pleased by the response.

"Very good."

Geralt's vision suddenly went white as a foreign, otherworldly pleasure filled his entire body. It began as a tingling sensation in his head, but quickly spread towards his midsection and down further still to his groin. He let out a choked sound, eyes snapping shut as his head collided against the tree behind him. His hands subconsciously pulled against their restraints, but the grip was unyielding. His hips rutted against the thigh that was still planted between his legs.

"What," Geralt gasped, feeling his cock throb in his trousers. "What _was_ that?" He felt soft lips kissing against his larynx and he desperately leaned into the touch. He felt Regis smile against him.

"One of a higher vampire's many perks," the vampire cooed, voice low and teasing. Geralt shuddered as he felt his voice vibrate against his skin. And suddenly the intense and foreign pleasure in his gut returned. Geralt's back arched as he gasped, biting into his lip and letting out a deep moan. 

"Fuck, Regis, please," Geralt breathed. His body was impossibly sensitive and he couldn't believe how _close_ he was, despite the fact that the only friction his cock was receiving was from his clothed hips rutting against a clothed thigh. He would be embarrassed by that fact later. Right now all he could think about was how badly he wanted the vampire in front of him to fuck him mercilessly. 

Regis hummed and began to run his claws down the side of the Witcher's face, one hand still pinning Geralt's hands above his head. _One hand_ , and it was practically effortless, and he would not be able to escape the bindings no matter how hard he tried. Geralt couldn't believe how powerless he was. He realised that if the vampire wanted to, he could easily murder him and escape completely unscathed. Geralt's heart sped up, but it wasn't out of fear or uneasiness like it probably should have been.

What was once a light touch of claw against skin turned into a harder scratch. They dug into his chest as Regis pushed the armor that was there out of the way, as far as it could move without being taken off completely. Geralt gasped at the pain of it, angry red marks engraved into his skin. He shouldn't be so turned on. His brain was screaming at him. But he was so, overwhelmingly aroused. He felt lightheaded.

"Can you come like this, my Geralt?" Regis breathed, his voice sounding as if it was coming from all around, disembodied and otherworldly. "Completely helpless and untouched?"

Geralt shuddered and bucked his hips again, desperately searching for proper friction.

"Regis, I _can't_ —" Geralt interrupted himself with a groan as Regis's hand wrapped around Geralt's throat. He squeezed gently; not hard enough to cut off his airflow completely, but restricting just enough to let Geralt know he very much could. Geralt's cock throbbed.

"Oh, I think you can."

Suddenly and without warning, Geralt felt sharp fangs dig into where his shoulder met his neck. A jolt of overwhelming lust coursed through Geralt at the sensation and Regis sucked and – oh, that would leave a mark – he briefly wondered if any blood had truly been drawn. He didn't have much time to ponder over it, however, as the foreign pleasure in his gut and groin returned and Geralt groaned, lewd and embarrassingly loud as – _oh, gods_ —

Geralt's orgasm was intense. His eyes were shut tight as his hips rutted against Regis's thigh, hands tugging desperately in their restraints, gasping and moaning, hearing the sounds of Regis's whispered, encouraging words in his ear in between light nips at his jaw. ' _That's it, my dear witcher_.' ' _Very good, my wolf_.'

When Geralt came down from his high he was panting and out of breath. He couldn't quite believe what just happened. 

Geralt was usually the one in control during situations like this. It was always him teasing, him pinning the other down, him making the other lose control. But Geralt had felt helpless, and it turned out the experience had also been very educational for Geralt. He shuddered. Then, however, he felt a rush of embarrassment as the events that had just unfolded sank in.

He just came. Without Regis truly laying a hand on him.

...And with all of his clothes on.

Regis released Geralt's hands and his arms fell uselessly to his sides. He was breathing heavily, eyes closed as he tried to regain control over himself. Regis's thigh was still placed between his legs and he felt like if the vampire were to remove it, he would sink to the ground like jelly. He felt Regis's fingertips – claw-free this time – gently smooth over the marks he had made on Geralt's chest.

"You seem to have enjoyed that," he mused, smile audible in his voice.

"Mm," Geralt replied. The Witcher forced his eyes open so that he could glance at the vampire in front of him.

Regis was definitely able to control himself, that much was certain. But Geralt could still see through that calm and collected mask and see that Regis was very much aroused by the entire situation. At least Geralt wasn't alone in that. He hesitantly lifted his hand to his neck to feel at the bite mark there, and he wasn't sure why he was slightly disappointed that there was not a trace of blood. Regis hummed, hearing the Witcher's unspoken question.

"I told you I had given up blood," he confirmed. "I would not drink from you, Geralt." The Witcher let his hand fall back to his side. He masked his disappointment with a nod.

Oh, how disappointed Vesemir would be in him.

He cleared his throat and dismissed his previous thoughts. "How did you... do that?" Geralt's voice was gravelly; more so than normal. "The... tingling thing." Regis chuckled.

"It's a type of hypnosis," the vampire explained. 

"Hypnosis? So you... mind controlled me? To make me come in my trousers?" Regis laughed out loud at that.

"Not necessarily," he grinned, fangs flashing, "but close enough, I suppose."

Geralt's eyes flickered to the bulge that was pressed against him. He could feel the aching hardness and it only made him wonder how the hell Regis had managed to stay so collected throughout that whole display. Not that Geralt had been in any position to really pay attention to the details. He reached his hand towards the arousal, but Regis stopped him by gently grabbing his wrist. Geralt looked at him in confusion.

"Not today, my dear witcher," the vampire responded. 

Geralt blinked. "But... you... what?" Regis smiled softly, fangs hidden this time, and tenderly pressed his lips to the Witcher's wrist.

"I'll be alright," he replied against the sensitive skin. "We should get back." Regis's gaze wandered to Geralt's soiled breeches and he made an amused sound. Geralt might have blushed, if he was physically capable of it. Maybe. "And you are in need of a new pair of trousers."

* * *

Nobody knew exactly what had happened that night.

When asked, Geralt would simply say that he had needed some alone time. When asked why he needed alone time with Regis, he would say he had a wound that needed attention. When asked why he had needed to be alone for that, he would say that it was because he didn't want to answer stupid questions, usually followed by an irritated 'fuck off.'

He was as stubborn as he was bitter.

Despite this, nobody missed the glances that Geralt would sneak at the vampire when he wasn't looking, or how Regis would periodically glance over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the Witcher while riding without saying a word. Everyone could feel a tension between the two, but nobody was quite sure what it was. Well, all except for one, evidently.

Dandelion, master of his trade, had always taken pride in his ability to read others. It was practically in the description of his craft, and he never let anyone forget it. It was no different this time.

"So, Geralt," the troubadour began casually as they rode on the path, the scorching sun high in the sky and beating down on them mercilessly. The group rode beside each other in pairs, Milva and Cahir in front of Geralt and Dandelion with Regis riding alone in front. Geralt was already irritated and he knew that this was only the beginning.

"What?"

"You may have fooled the others," his voice was low and discrete, "but you know better than to think you can fool me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the Witcher grunted. Dandelion let out a curt laugh. Milva and Cahir glanced at him over their shoulders, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Dandelion cleared his throat and patted his chest, masking his laugh as a cough. Geralt glared daggers.

Once the two party members had turned away once more, Dandelion visibly relaxed and immediately turned back to the Witcher. Geralt did not grace him with a glance.

"Something happened in that forest," he continued, voice filled with pride at his deduction. "Something between you and him. Now I must say, I know you gravitate towards dangerous companions. First sorceresses, and now higher vampires?" He paused and pursed his lips, as if debating something in his head. "Well, I would venture to say that Yennefer is more dangerous than the vampire, but regardless—"

"Dandelion," Geralt snarled, head lowered and tilted slightly to scowl at him. The bard raised an eyebrow, but was otherwise unperturbed by the tone of voice. "Not the time."

"Oh, it's always the time, my friend," Dandelion sighed wistfully, raising a thoughtful hand to his chest. "When you're constantly on the road like we are, it will always be the time."

"It will never be the time."

Dandelion turned his gaze to the vampire that was riding further ahead, pausing for a moment. Just as Geralt was starting to develop the hope that he had dropped it – a nonsensical hope, perhaps, but a hope nonetheless – the troubadour began speaking again. Much to Geralt's dismay.

"The ballads I could write with that..." he murmured thoughtfully. "'The Witcher and his Vampire Lover,' a tale of foreign and forbidden love."

"We are _not_ lovers. And if you write that I will kill you, Dandelion. That, I promise."

Dandelion looked over at him again and saw that the Witcher was tense, fuming, and incredibly uncomfortable, eyes securely fixed on the path ahead. The bard smiled to himself. He always had a way of finding out what he wanted to find out, and at times Geralt made it laughably easy. Dandelion sat a little straighter in his saddle and looked ahead, squinting at the glare of the sun, smile still plastered on his face.

"I know."

They rode on in silence. Geralt was left alone with his thoughts, his mind a jumbled and scattered mess. Dandelion was paying close attention to him. He could feel it. The Witcher made a conscious effort to keep his eyes away from the vampire, and he was aggravated by how tremendously difficult it was to refrain from doing that. He bit his tongue harshly as he tightly gripped Roach's reins.

He knew this was going to be one hell of a journey.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone was curious, I imagine book Regis to look slightly younger than game Regis, and the closest image I found to reflect what I imagined was [this!](https://tiafrye.tumblr.com/post/149931404575/he-saved-us-and-that-girl-in-the-camp-milva)
> 
> (Also just wanted to write a tiny side note, thank you guys so much for your comments! You honestly make my day! <3)


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